Allegory for Ilion
by TruantPony
Summary: Bow in hand, he'll wear the armor and shield of another.  Uryuu Ishida fights for Ichigo until the time comes when Ichigo can once again pick up his sword.  One-shot.


**Summary/Theme:**

Bow in hand, he'll wear the armor and shield of another. Uryuu Ishida fights for Ichigo until the time comes when Ichigo can once again pick up his sword.

**A/N:** Trying something different. Filing under the heading of: 'must escape the science, see, I can write non-IR stuff with a fair degree of competency, what the fuck happened to my weekend- I want it back, and don't talk to me until I've had another cup of coffee'. Mondays suck.

Also: HUGE thanks to **Vera_Rozalsky** for the RT beta! Got rid of the slubs, and changed a few things. Hopefully it works. Timed writing bouts, really rock! It only took me about three weeks to write this instead of oh, months, lol!

**Warnings:** None, really.

**Standard Disclaimer:** Bleach is solely the property of Kubo Tite, and I am merely borrowing his playground.

* * *

><p>After the Winter War, Ichigo loses his powers. There's no reason to believe it isn't true. To Uryuu's experienced eyes, the shinigami red of Ichigo's reiatsu ribbons bleach to white. It's tragic, to watch his powers fade, to watch the slow realization creep across his face, that he will no longer see spirits, or sense them. It is like watching someone slowly go blind. Uryuu Ishida is struck mute as something presses against his throat. There's nothing he can say, nothing he can do at that look in Ichigo's eyes, a complex mix of resignation and acceptance. This is the end of the line. The way he smiles, is at last bittersweet and sorrowful, as he says his goodbyes. But throughout it all, there is no regret, never regret, because what Ichigo is, with every fiber of his being, is a hero to the end.<p>

About a week after Ichigo's powers fade, Uryuu is walking home when he sees a familar white and green striped hat. Kisuke Urahara is waiting for him by the sidewalk.

"Well, well," he exclaims, fan fluttering near his mouth, eyes shadowed under his hat, geta sandals clicking against the pavement with a sharp snap, "What a coincidence!"

Uryuu is not fooled in the least. With that man, nothing is a coincidence. "You must have come out of your way to meet me here," he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. They flash silver in the sunlight. "What is it that you want from me, Urahara-san?"

Kisuke Urahara regards him keenly from behind his fan, expression inscrutable.

Sides are arbitrary. You're on the side of whoever isn't trying to kill you, and for the Quincies, the tribe in which he is the last son, that means just about no one can be trusted, especially the shinigami. Their's is a history of antagonism and genocide. Uryuu remembers Soul Society's mad scientist Mayuri, and the experiments performed on his grandfather, Souken. He remembers that Mayuri became the captain of the 12th's Research division only after Urahara went into exile to from Soul Society. Urahara was Mayuri's predecessor, his superior, and that makes him wary.

The man is clearly captain class, and good at hiding it. He is a masterful tactician, and underneath the exaggerated veneer of buffoonery lurks a keen intellect in his shadowed grey eyes.

"Would you like to buy a phone plan?" Kisuke Urahara eventually says.

"Depends on how much the minutes cost," Uryuu answers, mouth thin and flinty.

oOoOoOo

Things go back to normal, life goes on. The world keeps on spinning. They're in their senior year. All the fights they fought in between worlds were in between terms. Convenient, that.

While everyone chatters about their future, and entrance exams and universities, Ichigo fiddles with his substitute shinigami badge like a bad compulsion. Uryuu is annoyed by it, but he says nothing.

Ichigo soldiers on. Whether he feels joy or misery, it doesn't show. Nothing shows. Dark haired Uryuu, quiet and inconspicuous, can watch people without them noticing. There is nothing outwardly wrong with Ichigo. His face is a mixture of scowls, and bland boredom, carefully moderated composure, and tightly drawn smiles that never quite reach his eyes.

When Hollows attack, when he, Orihime , and Sado leave the room in unison on some hack excuse, Ichigo doesn't look up. He fiddles with the substitute shinigami badge in one hand, chin in the palm of his other, as he looks out the windows. Time goes on.

oOoOoOo

Ichigo has a presence in their little group of misfit friends. Webs of fate and webs of friendship extend out and around Ichigo, binding them all together through secret adventures, daring rescues, life and death situations. They rally to him, revolve around him even though he doesn't realize it.

In a way, he is by common agreement, their leader. After all, they've followed him beyond this world and into the next, and he's kept his promises to bring them all back alive. Ichigo, though rough around the edges, is kindhearted, stubborn, and loyal to a fault. It's something that inspires devotion. His fights are their fights, his principles have become their principles. They need him still, because without him, they're all cast adrift, Lately, as Ichigo's expressions become more abstracted and distant, as he loses hope day by day that his powers will return, their group becomes more and more fragmented.

Uryuu cannot forget the reason he no longer fights alone, even if he is the last archer of the Quincy tribe.

He wants to say something to Ichigo, he really does. He wants to tell him that they need him, and that he is irreplaceable. But even if he found the words, it's not what they do. They fight for and with each other, as friends, as rivals. Uryuu wears Ichigo's armor and his shield, and fights in his place until Ichigo can once again find his sword, until he can fight for himself.

He knows how it feels, to be alone. Ishida Uryuu is the last, and being the last means isolation and loneliness. He knows how it feels be filled to the brim with futility, powerlessness, and despair. He knows how it feels to have that familiar coursing power ripped from your hands, how it wrenches to have to watch while others fight. He worries about Ichigo, even though he won't show it.

Ichigo smiles, frowns, responds to them as he always does, but there's always something missing, something mechanical, stiff, and melancholy about him. He's good at hiding his feelings, good at holding people an arms-length away.

In between classes, Chad, Keigo, Mizuiro, Tatsuki, and Orihime gather around Ichigo's desk. Uryuu works on his sewing. There's a new cape he must make.

In the corner of his eye, he watches. Inside the school, they are not popular students. They are good students though, and for the most part they're quiet (with the exception of Keigo); they keep to themselves. People whisper about them, how they came to be friends. It's a mystery, but they are all misfits in one way or another. Some humans instinctively shy away from those with high spiritual power. In the reptilian part of their brains, they're marked out as 'other' as different.

Ichigo has always been different, even before he ever became a shinigami. There's a brightness in him, a gravity that draws the eye, even now. He is tall and striking, and there is a maturity about him, self-contained and assured.

As Uryuu watches their classmates around them, he wonders what these people know about the terrors that lurk beyond the fabric of their everyday reality. He wonders what they know about heroism and sacrifice, how their fates rested at the edge of Ichigo's dark sword. No one knows, and no one thanks him. It is unfair, but that's how it goes.

Heroes, Uryuu thinks, in all the old tales burnt brightly, leave an indelibly sharp afterimage. They burn out quickly, consumed by their own demons, or hubris. Ichigo did neither. He will live a long quiet life, perhaps. Uryuu thinks that slow deaths are the hardest to watch.

Something dark, sharp, and oily slivers across his senses. Hollows, chewing through the bright blue sky from the void world beyond. The phone vibrates in his pocket a second later. He puts down his needlework and stands up. Chad and Orihime are stiff at the side of Ichigo's desk. Their eyes flicker to him, and then back to Ichigo who feels nothing but their tension.

Uryuu looks away. "There's five of them. Let's go," he says quietly. Their eyes flicker back to Ichigo once before they follow. He doesn't look back. Not even once. He can't. He keeps his head tucked down, dark hair a curtain in his peripheral vision.

oOoOoOo

Ichigo does his work, no more, no less. He speaks when spoken to, answers in class when called, but his warm brown eyes are just a little sad, just a little melancholy. He offers up nothing of himself, as if part of him lies interred in another world. He still tries to protect, because that is part of his core personality and he still fights, but instead of villains with aspirations of godhood, it's petty bullies that prey on the weak. He is always kind to others, because that too is who he is, but nothing moves him. Nothing shakes his world. Nothing touches him.

Time goes on. And on. Ichigo takes on more and more work. They all do something part time. They are all busy.

One day, a gang of juvenile delinquents from another school roll up at the gate of Karakura High.

"Oi, oi, we're looking for Kurosaki! This punk knocked out eight of my boy's teeth. We ain't leaving till Kurosaki gets his punk-ass beat." The de-facto leader is huge, casting a shadow across the yard of the school. He is easily the width and girth of two people, and he has a mean brutish look to his heavy face. He and his gang post themselves at the school gate, blocking the entrance completely.

Uryuu approaches them, jaw clenching in irritation. He hates these flashy, disruptive antics. "Please leave," he says evenly. "You're bothering everyone."

"The hell are you?" leers one of the gang, smacking a bat against his hand. "Are you Kurosaki?"

"Do I look like Kurosaki?" Uryuu asks, low tone betraying danger as he nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. He takes up a fighting stance. "On second thought, don't leave."

With his glasses, and the narrow sculpted features of his face, his slender build, and long elegant hands (made for shooting a bow, or sewing serge stitches), they think him a soft and easy target. Uryuu proves otherwise and is doing quite well until Ichigo shows up in the middle of the fight, a blur of black and red, coming out of nowhere.

They argue for a bit, and when one of the dumber delinquents get in between them, they turn and yell, "You're in the way!"

The heel of his hand and Ichigo's fist connect on the thug's face at the same time. After all is said and done, Uryuu looks around at the fallen bodies, broken teeth, and bloody noses.

He pushes his glasses up and turns to Ichigo. "Honestly, Kurosaki, do you always have to go overboard?"

Ichigo gives him a significant look and darts a pointed glance at a bent pole where Uryuu's open-palmed strike sent a delinquent flying. "Like you should talk," he mutters. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth. "They were looking for me, asshole. Don't get involved."

"You're an idiot," Uryuu states, suddenly annoyed. "They were on school property and disturbing the peace."

"You're a student council president, don't go doing reckless shit!" Ichigo yells heatedly. "It's my fight. And another thing, Soul Society is going to get mad if you keep hunting Hollows the way you do."

"I'm exterminating them. Don't say it like I enjoy it. I go when I'm requested by Urahara-san. I got a phone for helping out at his store," he says pushing his glasses up as he pulls the phone out of his back pocket.

Ichigo gives him a flat look. "Do you even have service in this world?" he wonders. "Don't forget, until recently Urahara was an outlaw," he adds. Ichigo doesn't tell him to be careful. It's not what they do, because they're rivals. Or, they _were_ rivals. Now Ichigo is just a normal human, while he remains the Last Quincy.

Another gang of late-arriving delinquents show up spoiling for a fight, but Ichigo's boss shows up, defeats all of them, and hauls her employee off in an unmarked van in the fashion of a kidnapper.

"Ishida-kun, I heard Kurosaki-kun got abducted!" Orihime says, running up to him, breathless, but still as lovely as always.

"Eh, not quite," he says, stopping her before she can run down the street after the van.

Uryuu only meant to fight in Ichigo's place, because no one needs to fight alone. No one ought to. But when Ichigo first showed up, there is a flash of something hurt and wounded on his face. He needs deeply to be the one protecting, not the one protected by others. And Uryuu doesn't know how to tell him it's ok to let others fight for him once in a while.

oOoOoOo

It is deep in the night, when his phone beeps an alert. It's a quick job, one flash from his blue bow, and the Hollow dissipates in sparkling particles of reishi. Unfortunately, it has a giant friend, who appears from behind. His phone beeps out a warning a few seconds too late, and as a claw rakes across his side he wonders if the the 12th division research and technological bureau isn't fucking with him. It's late, he's tired, he couldn't turn and get into position fast enough. He mentally berates himself, excuses, excuses.

His bow flashes again, lambent blue energy piercing the grinning bone white mask.

There's blood. Not enough to kill him, but just enough to make him lightheaded, give him a fuzzy ringing feeling in his ears. It hurts badly enough just to be annoying. Even the garden variety monsters can kill. He shouldn't forget, he thinks, scolding himself in his mind. There's Quincy pride after all, and it wouldn't do for the Last Quincy to end sloppily, even though it was a cheap shot, sneak attack. His shirt is shredded. Another one ruined. White fabric is so expensive these days.

The gash on his side isn't too deep, though it's bleeding profusely, staining the white of his shirt with wet crimson dark. He can smell it, his own blood, the metallic iron tang of it, all too familiar. The wound extends down his ribs and across his intercostal muscles. He still has full functionality of his peripheral body parts, so Uryuu concludes it's merely shock that clouds his mind, leaves him clammy with sweat now that the adrenalin rush has worn off. He pulls himself together and begins the walk home. There is a basket of gauze and antibiotic ointment under his bed he can use. It'll do until he can see Orihime the next morning. She is asleep at this hour and he can tell, even from this far away. It would be rude to awaken her for such scratches.

He leans against a bus stop sign, promising himself just a moment before resuming his walk home. His eyes pick out a figure moving towards him in the gloom, through the patches of darkness between street lamps. Belatedly, he remembers there are monsters in human guise as well. He straightens up, panting a bit at the strain, peering through the dark.

Ichigo, framed under the light of a streetlamp stares back at him, eyes going wide. "What the hell, Ishida!"

Uryuu fixes a coolly belligerent gaze on him and before he knows it, there's something supporting him under his left arm.

Ichigo's face leans in close, brows pinched with worry. "Damn. You're a mess. What happened?"

"I fell," Uryuu says wryly, "down a flight of stairs."

Ichigo looks at him for one long moment, as if he were going to comment on his poor taste in jokes. "Some stairs," he finally remarks looking at Uryuu's side. "Clawed you up good."

"Get off me," he mutters, pushing half-heartedly. "I don't need your help."

Ichigo stiffens next to him, jaw tightening, arm tightening around him. "Don't be stupid. You can barely stand. Stop struggling!"

"Where...where are you taking me?" Uryuu asks.

"What's with that suspicious tone, jackass? I'm taking you to Inoue, so be quiet."

"Do you have no concept of the time?" Uryuu asks. "We can't go there! She's asleep." He tries to dig in his heels and wonders if Ichigo would be _that_ rude...not that Orihime would mind...and he was NOT going to think about that right now. There is more than enough on his plate without thinking about other...things.

Ichigo actually stops in the middle of the street, shoulders tensed in indecision before slumping.

"Tch. You're such a pain," he says turning on his heel and half dragging, half supporting Uryuu as he heads down a different street.

The night is quiet. "What were you doing out here, Kurosaki?" he asks. Ichigo is a long lean line against his hip. It's late, or perhaps early, depending how you see it.

"Walking," Ichigo replies tersely. His eyes cut downward towards Uryuu and the look in them tells him not to ask.

So he does anyway. "At this hour? You're nuts. I know I've said it before, but I really mean it this time."

"Stop being so noisy," Ichigo grouses, looking away. "I couldn't sleep."

"That's stupid. Listen to music or something," Uryuu says, although he doubts that Ichigo would have such appreciation for the classics like Strauss's waltzes, or for something more contemporary, Ravel's pavane. "Don't go wandering around. Hollows-"

"Aren't interested in me. I can't see them," Ichigo replies in a dull voice, jaw clenched, corners of his mouth pulled down into flat lines.

Something tightens in Uryuu's throat as he closes his eyes. He's no good at talking. He never was. He's too blunt, and there's something too tense, too vulnerable in Ichigo on this dark night.

oOoOoOo

They make their way silently to the Kurosaki Clinic.

Ichigo unlocks the door as Uryuu leans against the glass. Things are really beginning to sting and burn.

Then without a word, he drapes one of Uryuu's arms around his shoulders and drags him in despite his token silent protest.

Uryuu looks around. The place is cramped and small, with only six examination rooms, each partitioned by a flowery curtain. It's nothing like the major trauma center where his father works as the chief of medicine. This place is humble, but even so, everything looks well used, well maintained.

"Take your shirt off," Ichigo snaps, poised with antiseptic and gauze in hand.

"I hope you don't plan on following in your father's footsteps, Kurosaki. You've horrible bedside manner," Uryuu comments as he removes his shirt, wincing a little.

If at all possible, the frown gouges even deeper into his forehead. Ichigo's face darkens, something inexplicable passes through his eyes, and his lips flatten into thin lines.

"Shut up," he finally mutters, peering at the three diagonal gashes that rake across his ribs. "You don't have any diseases do you?"

"How crude, of course not!" Uryuu is affronted to say the least, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose irritably (with his middle finger).

"Saw that, jackass," Ichigo says without looking up as he daubs the wounds with liberally applied antiseptic.

"I meant for you to see it," Uryuu mutters, hissing at the sting, the cold antiseptic.

Ichigo is tall, his broad shoulders, strong arms and rough hands with long fingers and knobby knuckles broken and scarred from years of fistfights, advertises a strength about him. Even without his powers, there's yet strength in him still.

He's surprisingly gentle as he works, brow furrowed in concentration, movements easy and smooth, as he wraps the gauze around Uryuu's torso, warm hands brushing ever so gently over his skin. Uryuu reflects upon Ichigo's practiced movements. He's done this before. Many times.

They are both completely silent as Ichigo wraps the last bit of it up and tapes it down. He stares at the bandage...well through it really, with an absent and abstracted expression.

"You're done," he finally says, turning his back to Uryuu as he puts the stuff up. He turns over his shoulder, a wry twist on the line of his lips. "You're welcome, by the way."

"I'm not thanking you," Uryuu says awkwardly. "You dragged me here against my will."

Ichigo makes a non-committal grunt. Mechanically, he puts everything back, and when he turns around, he seems surprised to see Uryuu still there.

"You want me to walk you home or something?" he drawls, joking.

When Uryuu says nothing, he rubs the back of his head awkwardly, hands sliding through bright hair muted in the dark.

"You alright?" he asks leaning close and peering through his bangs at him, and instinctively, Uryuu knows that Ichigo would walk him home, if he needed it, without a word, without complaint, without needing to be thanked. Because that's the way he is.

Uryuu knows things, like what it feels to be lost and alone, powerless. He alone, of all their friends and comrades, can relate the best, because he has stood exactly where Ichigo now stands.

Part of him doesn't want to say anything. It's for the best after all, isn't it? That he's no longer...but still, he burns with indignation on Ichigo's behalf. Is this how heroes are treated? Used, and discarded?

Ichigo was defined, no _is_ defined by being a shinigami. But as Uryuu watches him trip and stumble through this world, without his powers...Uryuu can't help but ache for him.

Uryuu is bad with words, but Ichigo is his first rival. He can't let that go, so he grabs Ichigo's collar and hauls him close. "We're enemies," he says seriously, eyes cold and blue behind the silver glint of his glasses. "Don't forget, Kurosaki." And then against all reasoning, against everything that is cool and logical in his character, he slides his hands into Ichigo's impossibly soft hair, and slants his lips over his mouth.

There's momentary shock, as Uryuu waits, braced for the backlash of rejection. This is stupid, and crazy, and he's not in his right mind...can he blame it on Hollow poison, or the hypovolemic shock of blood loss? Just as he is about to pull away, embarrassed, maybe even a little ashamed, Ichigo's arm comes around him, cages him against the wall. The tightness disappears under his hand and Ichigo relaxes under his touch.

Uryuu can taste the loneliness, the desperate desire to protect, and the ache of goodbyes, still raw and hurting. His hands, steady with the needle, steady with the bow are trustworthy and competent. He trusts his hands and his mouth to say what words cannot- that he believes Ichigo will regain his powers once more, and what makes Ichigo a hero is not his powers, but the sum of who he is.

There's no way to really tell, but he thinks that Ichigo understands. When they pull away, Ichigo leans his head against wall, breathing hard against the seam of Uryuu's neck and shoulder, and he suppresses a ripple of goosebumps that threaten to travel down his arms.

Ichigo is loud and outspoken. He sometimes lets his mouth get ahead of his brain, but right now, he is strangely quiet and still. The set of his mouth is soft and serious, but his eyes, they're warm and they're alive, and they're looking _at_ Uryuu instead of through him.

"Someday," Uryuu says, "we'll be enemies again." He leans his head against Ichigo's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, the gentle tidal volume of his breathing. "Until then..." he trails off.

There is a heavy pause. "Yeah, ok." Ichigo finally says, folding his arms around Uryuu. The rough vibration of the sound seeps from his chest to Uryuu's.

Until then, this is his comfort to give. So, he holds Ichigo just a moment longer, and Ichigo lets him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN part deux:**

Ilion is the antiquated name of Troy. The allegory part refers to Ichigo and Ishida, their bonds as an allegory for Achilles and Patroclus. Whether they were good friends/war buddies, or lovers in the Iliad is a subject of debate, even now. So, that's how I got this pretentious title. Fit of literary geeky-ness now over. Cheers!


End file.
